‘They’re corn cakes.’ A date from hell.

Aletha
Aletha
Jul 10, 2017 · 7 min read
photo credit: delish.com

Last week I was perusing the online dating sites that I have graced with my photos and charm, and I don’t really know what it is about the profile that I settled on. Even as I write this, there is nothing in his written profile that I remember, or that excited me, or piqued my interest. His photos? Nope. There is no society in which he would be thought of as attractive. I responded to “I like the idea you take care of your health and that you care about what’s going on with this planet!”

The new Aletha, the one who is trying to be deeper than just dating the usual good-looking, nice body himbo that I have insisted on, thought…hmmm? It was the 1 in 7 messages that day that wasn’t “hello beautiful,” or “you’re in great shape,” or some variation. So after three “good mornings,’ and “good nights” from him with 2 emails in between, right before I was about to block him, (because I am not into incessant emails) he wrote “I’d like to take you on a date.” We met the next night, Friday.

I was so proud of myself. There I was this tall stunning beauty with this regular, bald on top, hair on the sides, with glasses, and a very nondescript wardrobe, shorter man. Did he lie about his height or was it the heels and Afro? I see the looks, the ones given to new Aletha before in this scenario. The ones in my mind that seem to say “how in the hell did that happen?’

He can’t stop smiling. I’m sure it’s the same reason it always is…I’m relaxed, charming. I look him in the eyes as we speak, concluding that the person in front of me confirms what I knew seeing him online — I have zero physical attraction to this man. But it’s a new restaurant to try, hopefully some interesting conversation and a drink before I hightail it home to compose a draft of my “we’re not a match” text to send when he texts me, and then calls me because I didn’t answer his text.

But as the night ensued I start to come to the conclusion that the time between now and my aforementioned text was narrowing. He stated that he didn’t like to discuss politics, and his talk of wanting to see the Wonder Woman movie led to his comic book collection. I didn’t hear a word that he said as we ate because I was wondering what the 20something hipster girls at the next table (which was so close we should have been friends) must have been thinking about him, me, and his damn comic book collection.

So as I tried to turn the subject to anything, he asks “how do you like the crab cakes?” (The ones that his email said were so amazing at this vegan restaurant). As I’m chewing corn meal with, corn kernels, I say “they’re corn cakes.” He then says, “they’re vegan, they’re versions of crab cakes.” I know that my face cannot hide my disappointment. “They’re corn cakes.”

Turns out the restaurant is as wack as the date. They bring out the appetizer, salads, and entrees all at once and crowd the table. With dinner done in a jiffy, my look must have dared the waitress to offer us a desert menu. He was paying the check. Then it happened. I have absolutely no idea why. I could have gone alone. It was my old neighborhood, busy with restaurants. And I only had one drink. But he was a man… somewhat of a man…and maybe it would be safer. So I asked if he wanted to go for a walk. In my mind I added ‘before I get in my car and you never see this face again.’

Of course he said yes. He then hopped over to my side of the table and said ”let’s take a first date selfie.” I was so stunned that I had to make sure that what was in my mind didn’t actually come out. “What the fuck did you, a 48 year old man just ask me? To take a damn selfie in a restaurant?! And why in the hell did that question include ‘first’ date?” Yeah, he was gonna have hurt feelings. I saw no other way.

After a side-eye, I scooped up my purse. “Ready?” My plan was to walk a few blocks get some air, get back to my car and leave him with his memories. But as we walked, I stepped on something on the sidewalk and twisted my ankle a bit. It was not bad at all, but I wanted to sit down. His bland voice was annoying me as he kept trying to roll up my jeans to touch my ankle. To see if it was swollen he said. “It’s not bad. I’m just clumsy.” Ok this is done. This is a good reason to head back to my car and away from this guy. About a block from the restaurant I notice that my small purse is no longer on my shoulder.

Panic follows. I immediately begin to hyperventilate between bouts of ‘Oh my God.’ He’s saying something in a monotone voice that I don’t hear as I start to catalogue. “My apartment keys, my car keys. Oh my God. My office keys. Oh my God My drivers license, my credit cards. Oh my God. My phones…my work cell. Oh my God.” We walk back and forth those three blocks as I continue my uncontrollable mantra. He tries to comfort me with a hug. I recoil. (Ugh) He offers to drive me home. I’m annoyed and crying, trying not to say this shitty ass night is so shitty. “My apartment keys are in my purse. Are you listening?”

He continues with annoying monotone questions, as he follows me back and forth for half an hour. I’m sweating and crying. The mantra keeps coming out as I’m calculating the time suck, the price of the tow, the new key from the dealer, replacing 2 cell phones.

He asks if he can take me somewhere again. I try not to go ballistic, but I am by no means gentle as I explain again, “my house keys are in my purse and I am not leaving my car to be towed, and my daughter is in San Diego, and no none of my neighbors have a key, and I told you that my family lives in Texas. You can leave if you need to.” I tell him. I just need to think. But of course he does not leave.

I am oblivious to the people that we’ve walked back and forth by at the mosque on the corner until two women walk by me and one asks if I’m ok, and if I need a hug. Then I remember…it’s the end of Ramadan celebration. I’m bra-less, afro out, arms out in an off the shoulder top, with tight jeans and high heels. I suddenly feel uncomfortable. It’s the mosque that I attended for almost a year when I lived nearby.

We walk the route back to the restaurant again. I say “we should ask someone in the mosque.” His response…”Yeah. I’ll drive you back.” That huff I couldn’t hold in. “Sure.” When we get to the parking lot of course he’s driving a big ass SUV.

Back at the mosque he pulls to the curb so that I can get out. I grab a jacket from his car. As I start on the sidewalk, an accented young man mangles my last name. “Are you…? I found your bag. I took it inside.” I follow him to the mens’ entrance of the mosque. I immediately stop. My head is not covered. He motions me in. I pull the jacket tighter. He tells another guy that he found my purse and gave it to security. The guy says it’s ok and to wait there, but I say “I’ll wait outside. I don’t want to be disrespectful.” They insist that it’s okay to wait there, but I go out anyway. They’re all nice. They return with my purse and wish me a good night.

I feel relieved until I get to the SUV. He insists on taking me to my car. I almost laugh in his face when he says. “I hope this is not an omen.”

We get to my car. He says “I’ll text to make sure you got home ok.” I don’t really care if he hears my sarcastic “yeah.” I get in the car, start it without fanfare, and drive away feeling like I had just escaped.

I wake up Saturday to a voice message from him. I delete it unheard. He texts me later in the day; “I left you a message. Just want to make sure you got it.”

This was not the occasion for my stock “we are not a match” reply.

So I responded:

“Hello Scott. My apologies for the delayed response. We are not a match. I get along well with those who enjoy discussing politics like I do. Not necessarily the same view, but those who appreciate the importance of participation and conversation. AND I really just want to forget last night. It is one of the worse nights I’ve ever had.”

Aletha

Written by

Aletha

Espousing my opinion as if it matters https://www.instagram.com/alethasfit

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